#inktober, plus trying to get the idea flow going for this piece…it’ll be mixed media, ad it’s for a book cover…but I want the piece strong, overall. No, those postage-stamp sized Gunter Brus images aren’t part of it. I just glued them in my journal.
I try to be productive. I try to be productive. I try to be productive.
Is the sin wasting time or the shame tied in
with this incessant need for self-validation
in proving I got something done, not
a couch potato mouth breather
fallen back into fugue state
depression hours days
weeks lost before you
know it self care stacked
against programmed disdain?
I know in part I’m compulsively making up for lost time, due to my mother/stepfather’s non-artistically-oriented life decision making processes when I was a child, and later in my life, my own self-sabotaging self-medicating self-destructive dysfunction. Which is only an “artistic temperament” when it’s backed up with talent and vision.
I sank into a pit of despair, a sense of failure the other day when I didn’t hear back either way from a gallery I’d gotten an open submission call message from. Beating myself up that because I need to wait for my next check to get a scanner that works with this new Linux thing, I sent my submission as a digital snapshot, it was that or nothing, so unprofessional. such unprofessionalism didn’t merit a simple yes or no answer. About 2:30 in the morning after the registration deadline, I got one of those “mailer deamon” emails saying the thing had bounced back from their system, never even been seen. I really need to chill the fuck out. Take a pill. No really I do need to take a pill, it’s time for my nightly medication. Here’s something I saw today: